


Eleven Hits a-Toking

by mistresscurvy



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Drugs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-04
Updated: 2011-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-14 10:24:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/148250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistresscurvy/pseuds/mistresscurvy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amsterdam wasn't quite what Adam was expecting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eleven Hits a-Toking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sarkastic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarkastic/gifts).



> Written for the Twelve Days of Pornmas

Adam was looking forward to Amsterdam, of course, but it wasn't like this was the one opportunity in his life for hedonistic excess and over-the-top displays. He _had_ done Hair in Berlin, after all.  
   
Plus, what was the point of being a Californian neo-hippie if it didn't score you seriously good weed?  
   
But he certainly wanted Amsterdam to be something to remember, and Purple Haze seemed like the way to do it. He learned enough of the words to get by, and his runs and Monte's shredding could cover if he needed them to, and, if all else failed, his cock never seemed to mind taking center stage while he regrouped.  
   
It would be fine.  
   


* * *

  
   
His first real clue that this evening is going to be something else altogether is when he kisses Tommy during Fever, and the resulting roar from the crowd fills his ears and travels through his veins, and all he wants to do is grab Tommy's wrists and hold him down and really show the crowd how he shudders and goes pliant when Adam works him over with his cock.  
   
For all that Adam loves being sexual on stage, loves letting himself go and not think, just move, he's really not that into showing off his actual relationships in public. There's a reason the pictures of him and Brad out on the internet are PG-13 at most, and it’s not just because he did a fairly thorough scrubbing of his online presence before Idol. (The whispered conversations they had under the covers about how a sex tape was clearly a terrible idea given their imminent fame turned out to be remarkably prescient.) He likes to be playful in public, to suggest and tease and tempt, but he’s always holding something back – not out of shame, or fear, but because it’s one thing to explore and show off his own sexuality, and another to put his relationship on display.  
   
But tonight feels different, somehow. He just wants to push it, trusting that this audience is going to push back just right, hold him up as he follows his impulse, and knowing that Tommy will be on board with him. He lets himself go, playful and coy and then just fucking on, voice shimmering and filling him with joy. This is what he _does._  
   
He knows the band and dancers are planning something extra for Purple Haze, knows that it’s going to be unlike anything else they’ve done this tour, but he’s still a little surprised when he sees Sasha handing off the joint to Tommy backstage while the crowd screams out for his return after If I Had You. Adam cocks an eyebrow at him, watching as Tommy lets the smoke slowly escape his mouth, then sliding up to Adam and straddling his thigh.  
   
“You want some, baby?” Tommy asks, looking up at him through his lashes, and suddenly Adam’s control stretches and almost snaps as he grabs Tommy around the waist and holds him firm up against his chest.  
   
“You know it,” he says, biting down on Tommy’s lip and growling a little when Tommy pulls his head back, smacking his lips together.  
   
“That reminds me, I need to freshen up my lipstick,” Tommy says, handing Adam the joint and slipping out from his arms.  
   
“Don’t you fucking dare put the black back on,” Adam calls out after him, taking a drag and shaking his head when Tommy turns back to him and grins.  
   
Sasha laughs at him, leaning up against Terrance and making grabby hands at the joint. Adam hands it off and holds his chin with his hand, pretending to think hard. “What the fuck am I going to do with that boy, hmmm?”  
   
“I’m pretty sure I know the answer to that, bossman,” Terrance says, taking a hit.  
   
Sasha looks up at Adam, wide-eyed with a look of exaggerated innocence on her face. “I don’t! What _are_ you going to do with him, Adam?”  
   
Adam watches as Tommy heads back out onto the stage, getting set with Monte and Isaac and Cam, and he runs his hand up his chest. “You’ll see,” he says, walking back out into the lights.  
   
The sound of Monte just tearing it up fills his ears as he looks out at the crowd, feeling their energy bordering on hysteria, and he can’t resist changing the lyric and heading back to kiss Tommy, lipstick or not. Tommy opens up for him, leaning back, and it fuels him like their on-stage interactions rarely do at this point – it just causes him to _want,_ full and instinctive and sharp, and he would blame the joint but one toke five minutes ago isn’t enough to explain this.  
   
It might explain why walking stage right to get the joint back from Sasha seems absolutely necessary, though. Sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll – three great tastes that taste great together, he thinks, blowing smoke over Monte’s guitar as he fucking wails.  It occurs to him that he’s shortchanging the sex part of that trio, so he blows his mic as the band transitions into Whole Lotta Love, sucking in the base and licking it over, his brain vaguely aware of just how fucking ridiculous he must look, but then someone in the balcony over stage left shakes a feather boa, distracting him, and he heads there to get his gift. He throws it over his shoulders and blows up a kiss, getting ready for fucking Zeppelin.  
   
As he starts to riff through the beginning of it, the fan turns up, blowing through his hair and making him really _feel_ his skin, the pot finally beginning to hit a little. Isaac kicks in with the drums, the rhythm thrumming through his veins and just lifting him up, and suddenly he’s invincible, utterly in control of his world and the stage. He rests the mic on his bottom lip, crooning into it, the feel of the metal against his tongue delicious and good and right.  
   
He suddenly realizes that he needs more freedom, can no longer be encumbered by anything beyond his microphone, and he throws back the boa to the crowd, winking at the adorable boy who catches it, and then gives away his joint, finally free to just feel. The music pulses through him, like a living spark that he can’t help but obey, and he gets on his knees at the top of the stairs, submitting to it.  
   
But that feels wrong, somehow, not yet, not the time, something missing, and then Tommy moves over into his view, and he catches it. He holds onto that thread as it pulls him to the end of the platform, bringing him back to Tommy and his mouth and that fucking black lipstick, and he lets it take him to Tommy’s lips.  
   
Tommy responds instantly to the pressure, opening up for Adam’s tongue, his mouth slick and hot and ready for him, and it’s like a slow slide into molasses, their bodies moving together as Tommy bends back for him. Everything is intensified and far away at once, the crowd and the music and his taste, familiar and giving, and when Adam realizes that he has Tommy completely pressed back against the platform he runs his mic over the bass strings, feeling Tommy give him that too, give him his baby.  
   
Adam pulls back finally, totally unaware of how much time just passed or what’s next, except that suddenly he knows, now it’s time for the floor, now it’s time to just open himself up for it, the people, the love in the room, the energy, and he lets himself move to it, crawling around and getting from one place to the next somehow, he doesn't even know. His vest comes open at some point, the breeze from the fan hitting over his nipples, and he looks out at the crowd and sees them on this journey with him, and he fucking loves them. They’re his.  
   
He makes eye contact with a couple of people in the crowd, the direct focus just enough to bring him back to himself and finish the show, and he gets back up on the stairs to close it out, the urge to laugh at himself breaking through a little. He loves it all though, loves that he can be sexy and silly and then just fucking sing, give them what they need, what he wants to give. He thanks the crowd, heading off-stage and feeling just so fucking lucky, so right and perfect and in tune, and then he feels Tommy up against his back.  
   
Reaching behind to grab Tommy’s wrist, Adam pulls them into his dressing room, pushing Tommy up against the vanity as soon as the door is shut or at least halfway closed. He kisses Tommy again, licking over his lips and bringing his hand up to wipe off the last of the lipstick, finally finding Tommy’s bare skin at last, and they move together, slow and rolling, urgent and languid and unfamiliar.  
   
They’ve fucked drunk before, of course, but they don't usually smoke before fucking, so the heightened feel of Tommy’s hair running through Adam’s hands is new and the clumsy way he works at Tommy’s belt is funny and novel and a _puzzle_ more than an annoyance. But once he gets Tommy’s pants down around his knees and his boy turned around, ass in the air waiting for his fingers and cock, things right themselves for Adam.  
   
He groans out loud once he’s gotten the condom on and his dick inside Tommy, biting against Tommy’s neck at the slide and push and pull, so loved and yet different this time. He’s used to having control, responding to Tommy’s unspoken desires and setting the pace like he does onstage, but this time it’s like there’s something outside himself just pushing through him, rolling them around like the California surf, and he just closes his eyes and holds on, focusing on the feel of Tommy around him and the sounds in his ears, the sharp gasps Tommy isn’t even trying to curb.  
   
When he finally comes it feels like it’s crashing through him, tugging out of his dick, his hands still firm around Tommy’s hips pressing him back against Adam. A moment later he can feel Tommy coming around him, his body shuddering as his head lolls back against Adam’s shoulder, hand now sticky and wet.  
   
Adam presses his cheek up against Tommy’s, staring at them in the mirror, eyes wide and dilated. He’s still clutching Tommy against his body, his glitter all over Tommy’s outfit, and he lets his eyes drift shut, letting himself float with the sensations.  
   


* * *

  
   
When Adam woke up the next day, Tommy sprawled out over his naked body, it took him a minute to remember exact what had happened the night before. He pieced it all together, admiring the bite mark on Tommy’s neck, and he closed his eyes again, holding Tommy closer to him.  
   
Amsterdam, man. Fucking right. 


End file.
